


Two In Blood

by writteninhaste



Series: Dark of Night [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One in fire, two in blood.<br/>Three in storm, four in flood.<br/>Five in anger, six in hate.<br/>Seven fear, and evil eight.<br/>Nine in sorrow, ten in pain.<br/>Eleven death, twelve life again.<br/>Thirteen steps to the Dark Man’s door,<br/>Won’t be turning back no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two In Blood

The fey were dancing round silver bonfires the night Morgana fled Camelot dragging Merlin with her. Arthur watched from his window as two horses raced from the castle gates, hooves crashing against the ground, echoed by the yell of the guards. Uther raged from the balcony and Gwen wept beneath the torchlight, whilst in the town the people celebrated Walpurgis Night.   
oOo  
  
“What have you done?” Merlin whispered, standing in the door to Morgana’s chamber. Scrying bowls and tools of sorcery lay scattered across the floor. The hangings of the bed were ripped and torn and an ancient curse had been scratched into the wall. Merlin could taste the foul stench of the magic on the back of his tongue.  
  
Morgana turned to him, eyes bloodshot and wide, lips bitten to bloody ribbons. “What was  _necessary_.” She hissed.   
  
“No.” Merlin said, “You have done only what you needed to fulfil your own twisted prophecies. The King will kill you for this.”  
  
“The druids will protect me.” Morgana replied. “And you.”  
  
“I’m not leaving.”  
  
“You have no choice. Either you come with me or I shout your secrets for all the castle to hear.”  
  
“I’m not afraid of dying.” Merlin said.  
  
Morgana laughed, high and cold and clear. “And who will protect your Prince then, Merlin? When you are dead and gone who will keep Arthur safe?”Merlin scowled, resolute and Morgana’s visage changed. Her tone became soft and pitying as she ran her hand down his face. “Can’t you see how he despises you? How the trust that was once yours alone is now held by no one? There is no place for you here Merlin. Arthur cannot bare the sight of you: the sorcerer who hides within his walls. How long do you think it will be, before Uther learns the truth and both your lives are forfeit? Come with me and he will keep his life. By all the ancient gods I swear it.” She held out her arm and with her nail sliced open her palm. Blood oozed from the wound, sluggish and crimson against Morgana’s pallid skin.

Merlin hesitated, thinking of Arthur, and Gaius and Gwen, before he raised Morgana’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Her blood smeared scarlet across his mouth, dripping down his chin and Merlin felt the Old Religion bind them to the oath. He was Morgana’s slave in exchange for Arthur’s life, until such time as destiny reversed all bargains and returned Merlin to Arthur’s side. 

Morgana wrapped her hand around his wrist, slender fingers pressing bruises into Merlin’s flesh.   
  
“Emrys.” She snarled at him – a warning and an oath.   
  
Merlin bowed his head and surrendered.  
  
oOo  
  
Uther sent soldiers tearing through the countryside – razing villages and towns in search of the two who had fled. Arthur rode at the head of the army, eyes distant and cold as he demanded answers from men and women dressed in rags. The King was fierce and resolute, unrelenting in quest for evil sorcery.  
  
No one dared to speak of the bags of money left at each place that was destroyed – heaps of gold and silver, enough to ensure subsistence and survival – but everywhere it was whispered that Arthur was a noble king.  
  
Unimpressed with the patrols inability to recover either Merlin or Morgana, the King announced he would ride throughout his realm to remind them who it was the ruled from the castle of white stone. Arthur accompanied him, leaving the castle in the hands of its advisors.  
  
The roads were hard, the hard packed dirt churned to mud and slush with the melting of the snow. Arthur rode at the head with his knights, using the strength of the warhorses to clear a path. He could hear his father conversing with his advisors behind him, making plans to scour each village they came to for sorcerers. Arthur chewed on the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Sire?” One of his knights whispered, leaning forward to offer the Prince his confidence.  
  
“Once the path is clear,” Arthur told him, “ride ahead. Let the villagers know we are coming. Tell them his majesty travels with us to ensure the upholding of his law.”  
  
“I will, Sire.”  
  
“My father will spare none found to be in contrivance of the laws of Camelot. If such criminals had any sense they would flee long before we arrive.” The man blinked at him once as though trying to discern whether he had understood Arthur correctly. The Prince raised an eyebrow. “I do not envy any child, who sees his father die.” Arthur said deliberately, waiting for the knight’s nod before turning the other way. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw Uther watching him with a shrewd eye.  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin panted as he clung to his horse’s mane. The beast galloped over field and down, never stopping even when sweat poured down its flanks and foam bubbled from between its teeth.  
  
“Morgana,” he called, “we have to slow down. The horses –”  
  
Morgana turned towards him and Merlin stuttered to a halt. Her eyes were blind and milky white. “We ride.” She rasped and Merlin shuddered as he obeyed. Fires were burning on a distant hilltop and Merlin thought he could hear music that marked the dawn of Calan Mai but he paid no heed. They had long passed the woods he was familiar with, the road that led to Ealdor and the Riversbend Bridge. This was foreign country with trees as gnarled and twisted as Uther’s hatred, and yet still they rode.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand. Bowing, the boy scurried from the physician’s chambers, closing the door softly behind him. Sitting on the stool the boy had vacated, Arthur dipped the cloth he had been using in a pale of water and rung it out carefully. Gently, he placed it upon Gaius’ fevered brow. The man, as though sensing a change in the manner of his nurse, opened his eyes.  
  
“Rest.” Arthur instructed. “You’re very ill.” It pained Arthur to see Gaius like this. The man who had bandaged his wounds and cared for his scraped knees, since he was old enough to remember, looked frail and ancient lying as a patient in his own quarters. His skin was pale and parchment thin, cracked and dry around his mouth and eyes. The remnants of Morgana’s spell were drawn upon his face; his breath was a death rattle in his chest.  
  
“What Morgana did,” Gaius wheezed. “I did not know she had the power.” He coughed violently, blood and darker things spraying from his lips. Arthur softly cleaned the physician’s mouth and chin before helping him up to have a drink.  
  
“I know,” he told the other man, “I know.” Gaius said the same thing every time Arthur saw him, as though if only he said it often enough it might change the past.   
  
“So strong.” Gaius murmured, “so much rage.”  
  
“And Merlin did not do a thing to stop her.” The words were hot and bitter on his tongue as Arthur said them. It was an old complaint, nowadays. Gaius had been shocked when he first learnt that Arthur knew of Merlin’s gifts. Less so when he realised that the knowledge was accompanied with a deep resentment and mistrust on the part of the Prince.   
  
“He did not wish to harm your kin.” Gaius told him and Arthur nodded. They had had the same conversation many times; always the same words, the same phrases, and never with any more meaning than the last time. Uther never visited any more. His anger over the fact that Gaius had harboured a sorcerer had warred with his compassion for a dying friend and won. The only thing that had stayed Gaius’ execution was Arthur’s pleas on the man’s behalf. His father had sneered at his sentimental weakness, but Arthur could not bear to part with one of the few people who reminded him of the time when things had made sense.  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin could feel the life fleeing from his steed. With every fleck of foam or drop of sweat, he felt the light within the animal shrink and darken. He knew the beast would be dead by the time they arrived at their destination. Beside him, Morgana kept her gaze straight ahead, and from the look of worship on her face Merlin could tell that whatever she saw was not part of this world. He was so busy looking at Morgana that he did not notice when the land rose sharply, carrying them up a craggy ridge that overlooked the sea. It was not until the breeze blew – hard and salty in his face – that Merlin once again took note of his surroundings. They were racing towards the shore now, and the sorcerer could just make out the shape of men standing on the beach. Morgana gave a yell and spurred her mount even faster, forcing Merlin to follow suit.  
  
The young man knew, even before they crested the hill that his horse would collapse before they reached the water’s edge. The gradient was too steep, and his mount to weary, to manage the descent. The beast barely made it seven steps before its legs gave way and it fell, shrieking as the shale cut into its flank. Mercifully, it fell faster that it dragged Merlin with it – leaving the warlock to tumble down the slope alone. Dimly he was aware of Morgana’s mount collapsing as it reached the beach – the lady jumping free as the horse jerked in the throes of death. Hands helped him to his feet, and Merlin stared into a face lined with age and died with woad.  
  
“Emrys.” The man said and bowed in greeting. Merlin could not find it within himself to return the courtesy. Around him the druids gave their greetings to Morgana, welcoming her as a sister, but they all stared at Merlin with a look of hunger and respect. Frowning, Merlin surveyed the group. They were all men; one looked to be about Arthur’s age or a little older, another had lines and wrinkles enough to put Gaius to shame. The rest were somewhere in between. The tallest of the men, the one who had greeted Merlin, motioned to the others and the party filed down towards the water. Merlin found himself swept up in the middle of the gaggle, druids pressing against him on all sides. It was almost as though they feared he would turn tail and race for Camelot at a moment’s notice.   
  
There were two rowing boats, tethered to the shore, the waves lapping against the hulls in a greedy rhythm. The party divided; Merlin to one boat, Morgana to another with the men who had met them distributing themselves equally between the two vessels. There were no oars that Merlin could see, but he soon realised that none were needed as, with a whispered word, the two boats began to move of their own accord into deeper waters.   
  
“It is quicker to go by sea than by road.” One of the druids said. His cowl shadowed his face, and Merlin could tell nothing other than the voice was that of a man in his middle ages. He nodded absently and gazed out across the dark waters. In the distance, he saw the tell-tale orange glow of fire.  
  
oOo  
  
Guinevere was kneeling before the hearth in his chambers when Arthur returned. In one hand she held a damp rag, designed to catch the ash that had scattered around the fireplace; the other was braced against the floor. She was staring very intently at a scorch mark on the floor. She was not moving.  
  
“Guinevere?” Arthur asked, concerned. The maid jumped, startled.  
  
“Sire.” Gwen voice betrayed her embarrassment even as she tried to keep her countenance. “I’m sorry, I –”  
  
“It’s quite alright, Guinevere.” Arthur said, walking further into the room. “I understand.” He studiously avoided looking at the girl who had once been Morgana’s servant. Her presence was both welcomingly familiar and strangely alien now that her mistress had fled. He wondered if Merlin had confided in her. Had his manservant let his friend know of his plans to leave? Had she been party to their plots? If Arthur was honest with himself, he did not want to know. His trust had been shattered too often as of late. He preferred to think Gwen the kind-hearted innocent he believed her to be; did not want to consider that she too might one day be the downfall of his kingdom.   
  
“Have you found any sign of them?” Gwen asked, and Arthur looked at her, surprised she had found the nerve to ask. Normally she was such a timid creature. “Sire.” She added, upon seeing Arthur’s stare.  
  
“No.” Arthur said. “There’s no sign. No doubt they used magic to cover their tracks. They’ll be long gone by now.”  
  
“What will you do?”  
  
“My father has placed a price on both their heads. They would be fools to step foot in Camelot again before his reign is ended.” Arthur knew his voice betrayed his weariness, but he could not find the strength to disguise the emotion with neutral pleasantry.  
  
“I still can’t believe that Morgana would – it’s been months and I still wake up expecting to see her in her chambers.” Gwen hastily covered her face with her hands, and Arthur realised she was crying. Gingerly, he placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder, patting awkwardly. He never had been good with crying females. Gwen seemed to realise his discomfort and broke away, muttering her apologies as she dried her eyes.  
  
“I – It’s hard for me too.” Arthur admitted, uncomfortable with the confession but recognising that the handmaiden needed to here  _something_  that might give her comfort.  
  
“Did you know?” Gwen asked softly, “Did you know what Merlin was? What they planned to do?”  
  
Arthur inhaled sharply. Her question could be considered treason – to accuse to Crown Prince of foreknowledge of such an attack – but when he looked at Gwen all he saw was a poor young woman, stripped of her most trusted friends, looking for her sovereign to offer some sort of explanation.  
  
“I knew he was a sorcerer.” Arthur said quietly, low enough that the words barely reached Gwen’s ear. “But I had no notion of what would occur. If I had – I never would have let him remain within Camelot.”  
  
“I always thought – I mean, he always seemed so nice. I don’t understand why he would have done something like this – and at the cost of so many lives.”  
  
Arthur scowled. “There is not a sorcerer in the land that can be trusted.” Arthur said coldly. “You and I learnt that lesson the hard way, Guinevere.”  
  
Gwen nodded solemnly. When it became clear that the conversation was ended, she curtseyed politely and left the room. Arthur stared at the space where she had been for a long time.  
  
oOo  
  
The druids led them to a camp surrounded by trees and wards that Merlin could feel buzzing in the air like flies. He shivered as they crackled across his skin, nipping and biting and claiming him as their own. He knew instinctively, however, that they were not strong enough to protect these people. He wondered silently if that was a bad thing.  
  
“Emrys.” The Earth whispered, “Welcome home.” Merlin ignored it. He and Morgana were led towards a roaring fire, around which sat men, women and children of varying ages. A man towards the centre of those assembled, stood and drew back the hood of his robe, showing a face tanned by the sun and chapped by hard winds.   
  
“I am Taliesin, leader of those you see before you. We welcome you, those whom the Old Religion has called home. Join us now as kin.” The men and Morgana sat down, settling themselves around the fire. Merlin hesitated before he too did the same. Taliesin’s eyes watched him as he did so, and Merlin got the distinct impression that Taliesin was not as eager to have Merlin amongst them as some of the others were. His eyes slid from Merlin’s face and the sorcerer breathed a sigh of relief; he was not in the mood to engage in a battle of wills with a stranger.  
  
“Lady Morgana.” Taliesin said, reaching out a hand to touch the shoulder of a boy Merlin remembered only too well. “There is one amongst our number who remembers you, for the kindness you showed him.” His gaze flicked again to Merlin, as though aware that Merlin had considered letting the boy die.   
  
“Mordred.” Morgana breathed, opening her arms to welcome the boy to her embrace. Mordred settled himself possessively in her lap, eyes locked on Merlin’s face as he rested his head against Morgana’s neck. Merlin watched the fire, and resisted the urge to twist the flames into the shape of the Pendragon crest.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur sat at his table, twirling a wooden chess piece between his fingers. In the bed behind him lay a chambermaid – Arthur had not bothered to remember her name – but he was more transfixed by the figurine between his fingers than the warm body between his sheets. The Prince uncurled his fingers, and held the king in the palm of his hand. The wood was smooth and polished to a liquid shine. He remembered the days he had sat, instructing Merlin in the game, as Merlin gossiped about the castle and its inhabitants like one of the kitchen maids.   
  
The thought of his old manservant stabbed at Arthur’s gut like a hot knife. Gall burned his throat and he swallowed hard. The knowledge that two  _traitors_  – one whom he had once held very dear – were still free, grated at him. Marching back over to the bed, he ripped the covers from the woman lying there. She gasped awake, twisting in fright until she caught sight of Arthur’s face. Noticing the feral, hungry look in his eyes, she raised her arms above her head and spread her legs wantonly. Arthur growled. Kneeling on the bed, he lowered his head until his mouth was a mere hair’s breadth away from her breast, smirking as the maid mewled in anticipation and arched up towards him. Pulling away to match her advance, Arthur slid one hand down the woman’s thigh; a feather light stroke that left her trembling with need. Holding her gaze, Arthur purposefully moved his hand upwards, as he brought his mouth down, thrusting two fingers deep within her even as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. The woman cried out, toes curling as panting gasps tore themselves from her lips. Arthur worked relentlessly: teasing, biting, kissing; bringing his partner closer and closer to ecstasy only to haul her back. Only when she was mumbling incoherent pleas did he part her legs and sink into her heat. He pounded a harsh rhythm, shoulders coiling with the effort of each thrust. He hitched one alabaster leg, over his shoulder, and graced it with a kiss. The woman quaked beneath him, releasing a sobbing moan as she cascaded over the edge, taking Arthur with her. He lay, sweat pooling on the sheets and listened to the maid pant. As her breathing evened out, Arthur shook her shoulder gently.   
  
“You should head back to your rooms.” He said. “It would not do for anyone to see you leaving here in the morning.” The woman’s blue eyes widened in indignation for a moment before her face slipped into the neutral mask of one born to servility. She gathered her clothes quickly, making no show of dressing for which Arthur was grateful. He lay back on the bed, gazing at the canopy, until he heard the door creak open and swing quietly shut. His habit of dismissing women before the morning bell had been born from Merlin’s habit of failing to knock, and his disapproval of Arthur’s casual bed partners. Now, with Merlin gone and nothing but betrayal and resentment left in his wake, the dismissal was simply a way for Arthur to prove to himself that he had never been influenced by Merlin’s wishes. It had been his own sense of propriety all along. Arthur never had lied to himself well.  
  
oOo  
  
“Emrys.” Merlin turned to find Taliesin standing behind him. His hood was drawn back, but he had folded his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe. Merlin wondered idly if the pose was one he had borrowed from the Christian monks or if it was the other way around.  
  
“My name is Merlin.” He said firmly, turning back to gaze out across the sea. The reflection of the stars rippled with the tide, and Merlin found the sight oddly soothing. He felt rather than heard Taliesin move to stand beside him and waited for the other man to speak.  
  
“Please believe me when I say, Merlin, that had I the control of the threads of Fate, you would not be standing where you are today.” Taliesin’s voice was heavy with regret and something too close to pity for Merlin’s comfort.   
  
“Where would you have me be?” Merlin asked, turning his head so he could watch the druid’s face.  
  
“Your place is with your Prince as well you know.” Came the reply, “but the Old Religion wishes you for its own, and so it has brought you here – to be trained as its Priest.”  
  
Merlin started. “ _Priest?_  No. I don’t want anything to do with the Old Religion.”  
  
“You do not have a choice.” Taliesin said quietly, “You killed Nimueh and so you must take her place. The balance must be maintained.”  
  
“I don’t care.” Merlin cried. “I don’t want any of this. Make someone else the Priest. I’m sure Morgana would be thrilled to assume the position.”  
  
Taliesin fixed him with a hard gaze. “Would you really grant  _her_  the powers of the Priestess?” He asked quietly. “Do you truly wish Morgana to have the power over life and death?” Merlin felt his heart stumble in his chest. He shuddered to think what Morgana would do with such power – what any of the druid’s would do. How could he be sure they would not simply strip Arthur’s life away; use it, to give life to one of their own? No, there was no one he trusted with Arthur’s safety other than himself.  
  
Taliesin nodded. “You see now, why you must assume the role? Arthur must be king. Albion must be brought to peace or she will tear herself apart. We can offer you the training you need – training you could never hope to receive in Camelot; instruction you will  _need_  if you are to serve Arthur when he is king.”  
  
“Who will teach me?” Merlin asked, looking back over his shoulder at the druid camp beneath the trees.  
  
“I will.” Taliesin said. “I will teach you everything I know. And when that is not enough, the Old Religion will teach you more. You will be our pupil until such time as Destiny sees fit to return you to your rightful place. And then it will be your turn to teach.”  
  
Merlin sighed. “Very well. If that’s the way things have to be.”  
  
“It is.” Taliesin said.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur raced through the corridors of the castle, feet pounding on the floor as he pushed past servants and knights. As he neared the courtyard, he could hear the cries of the mob. A woman’s shriek rose above the rest and a child screamed in response. Tumbling onto the courtyard steps, Arthur felt nausea roil in his stomach as he took in the scene.   
  
Three pyres stood in the centre of the courtyard, guarded by men in helms and mail – knights of the realm. To each of the bonfires, was tied a child. People surged forward trying to break through the soldier’s defences, only to be kept back by sweeps of steal.   
  
“Lower your swords.” Arthur bellowed, marching down the steps towards the crowd. When the knights hesitated, Arthur drew his own weapon. “I said  _lower your swords._ ”  
  
The knights wavered for a moment longer, before one by one they lowered their weapons. Arthur turned his attention to the collected mob. The people vibrated with held tension, as though with a single breath of wind they would spill forward in a wave.   
  
Arthur rounded on one of the guards. “Are you so maddened by fear that you would execute children?” Arthur demanded. “What crime could they possible have committed?”  
  
“They are sorcerers.” Uther’s voice rang out across the courtyard, and Arthur felt the assembled crowd draw back. The King stalked down the steps, flanked by a company of the royal guard. “It is only right that they should burn.”  
  
“They are  _children_.” Arthur protested, appalled. “Father, please.”  
  
“My word is law.” Uther spat. “They will burn.” He made a motion with his hand, and one of the guards moved to fetch a torch.  
  
“No.” Arthur wrapped a hand around the man’s arm, holding him in place. “Father, no child this age is capable of sorcery. Not one amongst them is more than six years of age. This is a mistake.”  
  
Uther hissed between his teeth, spitting venom like an angry snake. “You would do well to remember who you are speaking to – I may have yet to claim your manservant’s head, but I will let no other sorcerer go unpunished.” Snatching the torch out of the guard’s hands, Uther indicated his son. “Restrain him.” He ordered. Gauntleted fists, wrapped themselves around Arthur’s biceps. The Prince struggled wildly, kicking and dropping his weight in an attempt to wrest free of his captors. Very deliberately, Uther lowered the lit torch to the closest pyre. The child tied there began to scream. Arthur began to struggle harder, eyes fixed on the terrified face of the little boy. He was so focused on trying to escape, that he never saw the hilt of the sword descending on his head, nor heard the king’s orders to lock him in the cells.  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin woke as the sun slid over the horizon. The air was warm and wet as though the fires of Walpurgis Night had summoned forth the summer heat with a vengeance. Shaking himself, the sorcerer wriggled from his bed roll and walked swiftly into the woods. The clearing that housed the druid encampment was soon left behind and all Merlin could hear was the whisper of the trees and the light patter of steps that denoted the presence of various woodland creatures. Settling himself at the base of a lightening-forked beech, Merlin closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he attempted to clear his mind. The dragon had always told him that he and Arthur were two sides of a coin; Gaius said he had never seen magic as powerful as Merlin’s. Perhaps there was a chance he could reach Arthur – send him some type of message. The prince deserved an explanation. Ignoring the sounds all around him, Merlin focused on forming a picture of Arthur in his mind. His heart gave a painful twist at the thought. He could imagine Arthur so easily. In his rooms, relaxed and teasing Merlin as night drew in; in the council chambers, resplendent in the red doublet he so treasured; in battle, armour shining in the sun – a testimony to Merlin’s endless polishing. And the last time they had seen each other. Arthur’s face torn between relief and betrayal as fire streamed from Morgana’s hands and Merlin made no move to stop it. As Gaius fell between them and Merlin left his mentor to race after the king’s ward, blinding and binding the guards who chased after them, the slam of the hall doors blocking out the courtiers’ screams.   
  
Smothering his anguish, Merlin reached for Arthur with his mind. He could see tendrils of gold, snaking out to wrap around the Prince but no matter how hard he tried, Arthur stayed just out of reach. Eyes still closed, Merlin furrowed his brow. If only Camelot were closer. Straining, Merlin reached for his Prince once more. Sweat was pouring down Merlin’s face. He panted, and stretched one last time. He was so close, he could  _feel_  it.   
  
A whistle in the air, and stars exploded behind Merlin’s eyelids. The vision of Arthur vanished, replaced by roaring pain and stinging eyes. With a yell, Merlin fell to one side, eyes opening to the sight of Taliesin almost purple with rage.  
  
“ _Fool._ ” He hissed at Merlin. “Do you have any idea what you could have done?”  
  
Merlin blinked past his watering eyes and shook his head. “I was just trying to reach Arthur. But I couldn’t do it – he was too far away.” Merlin forced the words past the tightening in his chest. “I just wanted to explain.” He looked up and caught Taliesin’s eye. “I don’t want him to hate me.”  
  
The druid’s rage subsided and he sank to the ground next to Merlin. “You truly have no notion of your own power.” He remarked. Merlin only looked at him blankly. “Emrys – Merlin – when you killed Nimueh, you inherited a power far greater than most mortal men can comprehend. You were already immensely powerful in your own right, but now –” With a vague wave of his hand Taliesin trailed off.  
  
Merlin shook his head, puzzled. “I don’t understand. What does that have to do with anything – why did you hit me?”  
  
Taliesin sighed. “When you tried to reach Arthur you said you found him too far away. And you wished that he – that Camelot – was nearer, am I correct?” Merlin nodded. “The thing you must now understand,” Taliesin continued, “is that the very Earth is  _eager_  to conform to your will. When you wished Camelot nearer, the world attempted to make it so. In trying to reach your Prince, you very nearly tore the fabric of the universe asunder – time and space attempted to collapse in an attempt to grant your wish, Merlin.”  
  
Merlin gaped. He felt no different than he always had. It seemed absurd to him, that he now possessed the power to turn the world upside down.   
  
“Do you see now, why you must be trained?” Taliesin asked.   
  
“Yes.” Merlin agreed. “I suppose you want me to promise not to attempt to communicate with Arthur again.”  
  
The druid smiled wryly. “Not at all, Emyrs.” He said. “I merely ask that you use paper and ink.”  
  
oOo  
  
“Death to the tyrant king.”   
  
Arthur heard the cry, just as the man in the crowd launched a dagger at Uther. Without thinking, Arthur threw himself in front of his father, wincing as the blade buried itself in the muscle of his lower arm. The crowd, realising that it was the Prince and not the King who was hurt, turned on the malcontent, dragging him before the royal guards and leaving him to the King’s mercy.  
  
“God bless Prince Arthur.” A woman yelled, and those around her echoed the cry. Arthur tensed. Though some might think the woman grateful that the Prince had saved the life of the King, many would not be fooled. Too many times had Arthur ridden through the streets, accompanied by whispers of “long life to your majesty”. Cautiously, Arthur raised his gaze to meet his father’s eye. Uther was looking at him with a mixture of gratitude and disdain.   
  
“Have the physician tend to your arm.” He instructed, “And then attend to me in my chambers.”  
Arthur winced and nodded, indicating for a squire to fetch the physician to him. Uther disappeared back into the castle with another word.  
  
Arthur waited only for the wound to be cleaned of infection and bandaged before he followed his father. The hallway surrounding the King’s chambers were empty; where once servants would have milled or gossiped on their way to various posts, now there was only silence. Too many, feared Uther’s now constant rage.  
  
Arthur knocked on the door and waited for the command to enter. As always, Uther kept him waiting just long enough to make Arthur consider knocking again.   
  
“Come in.”  
  
Arthur pushed the door open and entered the room. Uther was stood by the window, sipping from a goblet.   
  
“The people hold you in high regard.” Uther said, once Arthur had shut and barred the door behind him. “More so than they do me.”  
  
Arthur bit his cheek and said nothing. Any love that may once have existed between himself and his father had long since died. Arthur could not forgive the slaughter that had swept through the land, and Uther could not forget Arthur’s failure to capture Merlin and Morgana.  
  
“It is dangerous,” the king said mildly, once the silence had stretched for too long, “for a ruler to have an heir better loved than he. It incites the people to rebellion, encourages coups. Perhaps if you were not around, this kingdom would return to order.”  
  
Arthur reeled from the blow, though he tried valiantly not to show it. “I am your only heir.” He said. “Were you childless, the border lords would wage war against each other in the hopes of being dominant enough to claim the throne upon your death. You would condemn this kingdom to civil war. And you know as well as I that it is times of chaos that gives magic a foothold in the realm.”  
  
“You say such things to pacify me.” Uther spat. “If you truly despised magic as you ought, you would have torn this kingdom apart looking for that manservant of yours and my errant ward. You would have left none who aided them alive.”  
  
Arthur inhaled sharply. “I will punish sorcerers when I find them sire, but I will not slaughter the innocent to mask my own impotence.” Uther whirled around and Arthur found his hand reaching for his hilt before he could stop himself. He masked the movement just in time, but his father eyed him beadily from across the room and Arthur knew that even that much of a reaction was seen as a failure in Uther’s eyes.   
  
“You are a  _disgrace_.” Uther sneered. “You cling to the memory of a bitch no better than she ought and a boy who wormed his way into your confidence only to betray you.” Arthur steeled himself against the words that rang too true for comfort. “Sorcery threatens the peace of this land. If you had done your job and hunted that boy to the ground –”  
  
“Merlin’s death would not cure this kingdom’s ills.” Arthur said hotly. “He is not responsible for the poison that seeps through this realm.” A muscle twitched in Uther’s jaw, and Arthur watched his father warily. The king seemed to be weighing the wisdom of drawing his sword against a son far younger and more agile that he. With a snarl, Uther waved a hand in dismissal and turned away. Arthur exited swiftly from the room. As he left, he heard his father calling for more wine in which to drown his disappointment.  
  
oOo  
  
 _Emrys. Do you hear me Emrys?_  
  
Merlin raised his head and cast about for the source of the voice.  _Mordred?_ he thought, reaching with his mind for a sense of the other boy.  
  
 _Yes._  
  
 _Where are you?_  Merlin found it disconcerting how Mordred insisted on communicating with his mind rather than his voice. It felt like an invasion of privacy each time the boy trod at the outskirts of his thoughts. There was silence in Merlin’s mind and for a moment he thought Mordred had retreated, but all at once an image flashed before his eyes, as vivid and as palpable as if he were standing in the midst of it. Morgana lay stretched out upon a pile of furs, pillows arranged behind her back. Her skirts were rucked around her legs giving flashes of white skin; one breast was bare. Mordred lay curled against the Seer’s side, head pillowed on her stomach, mere inches from the naked flesh. With one hand he reach up to cup Morgana’s breast.   
  
Merlin forcefully wrenched himself from the image, sending a wave of fury and repulsion to Mordred’s mind. All he heard was quiet satisfaction in reply. Shaking himself, Merlin walked deeper into the woods, trying to put distance between himself and the druid encampment. His wards – erected to replace the ones originally in their stead – shivered as he passed through and he stroked a hand idly against them as he walked by. Hiking himself up into the first suitable tree he found, Merlin dug through his pockets and pulled out a stone. It was thick, and polished to a high shine with a small round hole in the centre: a hagstone. One Merlin had tried to give Arthur months ago to protect him against evil. The dark haired young man could still feel the warmth of the enchantments he had placed within the stone. He had made it his life to try and protect Arthur and in the end he had offered the most grievous wound of all. Perhaps, he should have listened to the dragon more.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur woke, gasping for breath. Sweat was sliding down his skin and his face felt raw and hot. He heard his horse wicker behind him, and wondered what he was doing in the stables. Squinting, he realised he was still in the field he had ridden to before dawn this morning. He did not remember closing his eyes, but it was clear from the position of the sun that he had slept for many hours. His father would be furious when he returned.  
  
“Arthur?” Gwen was standing a little ways off, hands wrapped around a wicker basket in which were piled herbs and wildflowers. She approached Arthur slowly, and the Prince wondered if he did not look a little mad – to be found sleeping in a field, still in the previous days clothes, by a servant no less. The thought did not sit well with him, for all he knew that Gwen would mention the encounter to no one. Arthur hurriedly assured her he was alright, forcefully wrenching his mind away from the memory of pale skin, blue eyes, and a whispered confession once given in a darkened cave.  
  
Seeing his gaze fixed on her basket, Gwen blushed. “It’s the anniversary – of his death.” She explained and Arthur knew, from the way her throat constricted on the words, to whom she was referring. “I just thought –”  
  
“It’s quite alright, Guinevere.” Arthur said, “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Gathering his horse’s reins, he drew the beast over to the handmaiden. “Allow me to give you a ride back to Camelot. The sky looks to threaten rain and I would not have you catching cold.”  
  
Gwen stared wide eyed at the horse and stammered. “Thank you sire, but I couldn’t – it wouldn’t be right.”  
  
“I insist,” Arthur said, helping her into the saddle before swinging up behind. Making sure Gwen’s basket was secure he turned his mount and began the journey back to Camelot.  
  
oOo  
  
“Focus on my voice.” Taliesin said. “Let the sounds of nature flow around you. Feel the whisper of the grass; hear the twitch of the rabbit’s ears. As the High Priest this is all yours to control, but you would do well to offer your respect in return. The Old Religion has granted this boon to its priests, in exchange you are expected to learn all the intricacies of nature. In times of desperation you may find the need to bend Mother Earth’s laws. It is only fair that you acknowledge the affect you will have on the natural world. There must be a balance, Merlin, the world cannot exist otherwise.”  
  
“Everything comes in pairs.” Merlin whispered and Taliesin’s lips twitched in response. He could guess what the young sorcerer was thinking.  
  
“Open your mind.” He instructed. “Let your magic spread as though it were a blanket you were laying over the ground. What do you see?”  
  
Merlin, eyes closed in meditation, released his power to wash over the earth. The forest was first to reach his senses – alive and green and far noisier than Merlin had ever before realised. Beyond that lay the meadows; the fields harvested by the nearest village. Mountains sat low and stout on the horizon and in the distance Merlin could feel the sea – a roaring hub that beckoned him with whispers of speedy travel to Camelot.   
  
“Everything.” Merlin breathed. “I can see everything.” A twig snapped nearby, and Merlin was jolted from his trance. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see Morgana standing behind Taliesin. The head druid did not appear pleased to see her.  
  
“Lady Morgana. I believe I told you your presence was not necessary today.”  
  
“I know.” Morgana said lightly, as though the requests and wishes of the druid elders were none of her concern. “But I wished to listen to your teaching. After all, Emrys is the hope of the druid nation.” She turned cloudy, sightless eyes on Merlin, provoking a shudder in the young man. Less than two days since they had left Camelot and already Morgana was so changed. He shivered every time he saw her with Mordred – the dragon’s words ringing in his mind. He had no doubt that had their positions been reversed, Morgana would not hesitate in killing him whilst he slept, but Merlin could not bring himself to kill the child in cold blood. He ignored the voice that whispered he would gladly do the deed if given the slightest provocation.  
  
“Be on your way, Morgana.” Taliesin instructed. “The teachings of the High Priest do not concern you.” Morgana laughed and drifted away between the trees. As Merlin closed his eyes again, he realised with a jolt that Morgana was the one creature in the forest that he could not feel.  
  
oOo  
A chill wind blew through the catacombs, but Arthur ignored the sensation. The coronation robes of a king were heavy: thick wool and smooth ermine; far warmer than the chill marble of his father’s effigy. The sculptor had been kind. In death Uther looked regal and proud – free of the manic hysteria that had clouded his judgement for the past four years. Arthur laid a bare hand on his father’s stone shoulder before turning away. He stopped short when he saw Guinevere standing there.   
  
“Will you join us for the feast, my lord?” She asked, hands folded neatly before her. When Arthur did not respond immediately she cocked her head; torchlight reflected off the crown Arthur had placed upon her head only hours before.   
  
“It is alright to grieve, you know.” Gwen told him, “He was your father.”  
  
“He was a tyrant.” Arthur spat. “Even you must admit that much.”  
  
“And yet, he was your father.”   
  
Arthur clenched his jaw. “I  _will_  not be like him. I will never bring such suffering upon my own people.”  
  
“Uther was driven by the need for revenge, and the desire to assuage his own guilt and fear.” Gwen said sharply; the years had taught her to speak her mind, at least to Arthur. “You are not plagued by such needs.”  
  
Arthur stepped forward and looked his queen full in the face. “No?” He asked mildly and Gwen flinched. “Have I no cause to seek revenge, my lady?”  
  
“I have learnt to live with their betrayal.” The queen said calmly. “I have made my peace. You should do the same.”  
  
“And if I cannot?”  
  
“Then I pray that Camelot will be delivered from your rule far quicker than it was delivered of your fathers.” Gwen’s chin trembled at her audacity; with the fear that there may yet be much of the father in the son, but Arthur sighed and bowed his head.  
  
“I trusted him, and twice he forfeited my faith. The lies I could forgive – but to be complicit in her plans: that I cannot forgive.” Gwen reached forward and wrapped both her hands around one of his.  
  
“Merlin was a good man. He adored you. I cannot believe he would have left you willingly.”  
  
Arthur shook his head. “If he had wished to stay – there was nothing to make him leave. No one knew of his magic but Gaius and myself. If he had not fled with Morgana no one ever would have believed him capable of sorcery.”  
  
“You would not have felt the betrayal so keenly, if you had not loved him quite so deeply.” Gwen whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Admit that much to yourself, if to no one else.”  
  
Arthur scowled. “I admit no such thing. The trust between us vanished when I discovered he his lies.”  
  
Gwen smiled at him kindly. “Trust is not a requirement of love, my king. It merely makes it a more palatable dish.”  
  
Arthur stared at his queen balefully. “Have faith,” she said. “You are a good man. You will be a great king. You must trust that all will right itself in time.”  
  
Arthur smiled dryly and turned away. “I wish I could have your faith.”  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin groaned as he rolled out from under his sleeping blankets and stumbled down to the little pool near the encampment. He glared blearily at his reflection before plunging his head beneath the surface. Not even twenty-five years of age and he felt as though he had lived a hundred lifetimes already. He had half a mind to leave his head where it was and never surface again. A rough hand on the back of his neck ruined that plan. Yanking his head up, Merlin shook himself like a dog and twisted round to glare at the intruder. The glare melted from his face when he saw Taliesin kneeling beside him, saddle-packs in hand and a frantic expression on his face.  
  
“Make haste.” He whispered. “Call one of the wild horses to your side, and ride for Camelot as quickly as may be – there’s no time to waste.”  
  
Merlin stared at the man who had been his mentor since he had fled his home all those years ago. “What’s happened?” He asked, “What’s wrong.”  
  
“The Council of Elders has convened and decided that now is the time to wage war against King Arthur.”   
  
Merlin stared. “The army has been assembled for months and it has come to nothing. What has happened to spur them into action now?”  
  
“Morgana has had a vision. She says that it is in these moments that fortune is most greatly in our favour. Already the army is preparing to move. They will be ready to march on Camelot in three days.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” Merlin demanded. Taliesin was one of the most respected druid leaders, Merlin could see no reason for him to turn traitor against his own kinsmen.  
  
“Because Arthur is the Once and Future King.” Taliesin said. “Without him there can be no Albion. If there is war between the druids and the king, then Camelot will fall. You are his only hope of victory.”  
  
Merlin shook his head violently. “I am not strong enough to defeat the  _entire_ druid army. Not without turning the world on its head.”  
  
Taliesin growled. “Have my lessons taught you nothing. You are the High Priest of the Old Religion. There are many of our number who will not make war against you. If you can prove yourself united with Arthur they will accept that as a sign of a new age – a better Camelot. Convince them that the days of persecution are ended and there will not be war.” Merlin scoffed, and Taliesin amended his statement. “At least not yet.”  
  
“And if Arthur does not accept me?” Merlin challenged.  
  
“Then when the battle comes do what you can to protect the king and his people. And if all is lost do what you can to claim the throne. If there needs be a druid king I would rather you than Morgana.”  
  
Merlin nodded, and took the saddlebags from Taliesin’s hands. “Thank you, for everything.” He said, grasping Taliesin’s forearm. The elder nodded and stepped aside, raising as eyebrow as Merlin summoned a majestic stallion – the king of the local herd – the carry him to Camelot. Merlin smiled.   
  
“Arthur was always impressed by fine horses.” The stallion snorted, pleased with the compliment. “Farewell.”  
  
“Farewell.” Taliesin said. Merlin took one last look at his mentor’s face, before kicking his heels in the horse’s side and spurring his mount towards Camelot.  
  
oOo  
  
Gwen offered him a wry grin as yet another courtier came forward to his congratulations of the success of the first year of Arthur’s reign. With all the regal courtesy a lifetime of etiquette classes had gifted him with, Arthur accepted the man’s compliments and dismissed him with a few polite phrases that left the man beaming and feeling very self-pleased. Smiling tightly to Gwen, Arthur rose from his throne and slipped off to a corner of the room. He trusted Gwen to make his excuses for him, were anyone to inquire as to his absence – but he doubted anyone would dare. Hidden in shadow, Arthur rested his head against the cool stone wall and closed his eyes. Voices drifted to him, across the hum of human interaction in the hall. Squires, Arthur thought, if the way they kept shifting their scabbards was any indication – he remembered the almost constant need to readjust his sword belt before he had adjusted to wearing one; he had felt in perpetual danger of tripping over his sword.  
  
“The villagers talk of an army – one capable of pulling fire from the skies.” Arthur thought he recognised the voice of Eldridge – the younger son of one of Camelot’s minor nobles.  
  
“They also say it is led by a woman who sees all from blind eyes.” There was a murmur of dissent as the second speaker spoke. Arthur frowned. Fear was trickling through the kingdom as wild rumours spread through the land. The people whispered of a druid army – a force amassed to march against the king – but so far the rumours were unsubstantiated. He had sent scouts to the Northern Marches scant weeks before the winter snows closed the pass, but they had returned empty handed. Not a single druid could be found, for all the people were certain they were there, and Arthur knew of only one person in all Albion powerful enough to accomplish that.  
“The Lady and the Lord.” Another said, “Do you think it may be –” Arthur stopped listening. Merlin’s betrayal was still an open wound and Arthur was beginning to think it would never heal. Morgana’s treachery stung only a little less. Making his way back to Gwen, Arthur smiled his thanks. It may only have been a moment’s time, but even those few heartbeats of solitude kept him sane. He was so surrounded by sycophants trying to mould him into their ideal of a king that Arthur craved any second in which he could reassert his own personality. This is not how he had imagined his reign. In those brief instances when he had entertained such thoughts in his youth, Arthur had always simply imagined the court of his childhood only with himself as king and Merlin as a permanent fixture. Such dreams were abandoned now – relegated to the back of Arthur’s mind, along with all other reminders of happier times.  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin bent low over the stallion’s neck. Wind whipped through his hair and rain cut his face as he galloped through the storm towards the city. He could just make out the white walls of Camelot on a distant hill. Water sluiced down the back of his cloak, and Merlin shivered. The storm may have been of his own creating, but that did not mean Merlin had to enjoy himself. He was chilled to the bone and exhausted. Since leaving Taliesin and the druid encampment, Merlin had pushed as hard as he was able. He did not know what lie Taliesin had told the druids but it was convincing enough that the warlock had not heard Mordred calling in his mind. Merlin only hoped the silence would last.   
  
A wolf sang to its pack in the night, and the horse Merlin had claimed from the woods increased its pace with no urging. Its hooves were eating up the ground as though tipped with wings. Merlin clung to the mane, hands slippery with sweat and rain. His heart was beating a steady rhythm in his chest, and Merlin fancied it was saying  _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_ , over and over again. His magic hummed in his veins, blood singing as it recognised the memory of a golden king. 

Arthur prowled restlessly in his chambers. Sleep was hard to come by these days. Tormented by visions of the past; by desperate attempts to give his realm the peace and security it was sorely lacking. How had everything gone so wrong?  
  
Years ago things had been simple – before Morgana had plotted to kill the king; before Merlin had concealed his knowledge of the plot; before Arthur had learnt his manservant was a sorcerer; before Morgana had gone mad and fled into the night, Merlin with her. Now only Gwen was left – the sole voice of reason in a kingdom of chaos. And yet, even she was wrong sometimes. Arthur had ceased listening when his queen hinted at the love she believed he harboured for his ex-manservant. Perhaps, at one time, there may have been truth to the assumptions – but too much time, and too much space, had passed between them, too full of pain and betrayal. In truth, Arthur was now indifferent even to the memory of his one-time friend. No matter what the stories said, no acquaintance could undergo so many years of absence and remain the same.   
  
There was a rustle of cloth behind him, and Arthur spun, sword leaving its sheath in one smooth move, even as the Prince pushed his weight forward to catch the intruder off-guard. With the strength of many battles, and a gruelling knighthood, Arthur threw the interloper into the nearest wall as he levelled his blade at a pale, slender throat.   
  
“Merlin?”   
  
Arthur knew he should drive the blade home – kill Merlin before the sorcerer had a chance to cast even the beginnings of a spell, but something stayed his hand. Wide, blue eyes stared into his own, from a face that was both achingly familiar and heart-wrenchingly alien. Arthur realised with a jolt that Merlin did not look the way Arthur remembered him, and not just because he had aged; but because Arthur had remembered  _wrong_. He had forgotten that the left side of Merlin’s face was raised infinitesimally higher than his right; that his stubble grew faster on his upper lip than it did on his chin. Merlin was staring at him with a calm and steady gaze – anyone would have thought he spent most of his days held at sword point by old friends.  
  
“Hello Arthur.” Arthur resisted the urge to shake his head. Even the man’s voice was different. Part of Arthur wanted to lower his sword, to just sit back and listen to what Merlin had to say – too tired to fully deal with the implications of the sorcerer’s return. The other half was angry, wary and concerned. If Merlin was here with him, did that mean Morgana was with Gwen? He made to rush from the room, unwilling to leave his queen in any potential danger, when Merlin stopped him.  
  
“She is safe.” He said, “I came alone.” Merlin’s voice was steady, his eyes clear, and Arthur found himself believing the other man even as his mind whispered that sorcerers lie.  
  
A pale hand rose to wrap around Arthur’s wrist and Arthur noticed with horror the woad tattoos etched into the skin; ugly, twisted, tormented scenes splayed across pale flesh. Arthur could barely comprehend what he was seeing: the seven sorrows of the world. Gritting his teeth, Arthur pressed his blade closer to Merlin’s throat – what kind of creature inked their skin with such images? Slowly, as though anxious not to cause any sudden movement, Merlin raised his other wrist so that it was level with the one he had first offered Arthur. Hesitantly, unwilling to see the evidence of how far his one time friend had sunk into depravity, Arthur looked.  
  
Relief, like a balm, washed over him. The seven joys formed a bracelet around Merlin’s right wrist: a mother cradling her babe, hope blossoming with the spring and two figures Arthur knew all to well, entwined together in a lover’s embrace.   
  
“There must always be a balance.” Merlin whispered. The words hung soft and heavy between, their quiet breathing the only sound. Eventually, Arthur lowered his sword.  
  
“Why have you come back?” Arthur asked, stepping away from the warlock still pressed against the wall.  
  
Merlin straightened, and matched Arthur’s steps as the King backed further into the room. “A druid army marches on Camelot.” Merlin said. “You have three days to prepare.”  
  
Arthur’s gaze snapped to Merlin’s face. The youthful skin of the past had given way to more careworn flesh, but there was still that cloak of truth on Merlin’s face that had once made it so easy for Arthur to trust him.  
  
“And you expect me to believe that you would abandon them, to warn me? I have heard the rumours Merlin, a druid army led by a Lord and a Lady – a man with skin of parchment and eyes of night. A Lady of the same description. You lead the very army that you say marches against me. How do I not know this is some trick?”  
  
Merlin’s face curled in a snarl, and Arthur saw his eyes bleed to gold. “The _Lord_  they talk of is not me.” Merlin spat. “It is Mordred.”  
  
“Mordred?” Arthur asked, “But he is only a child. He –” Arthur broke off when he realised how foolish he sounded. In his mind, Mordred was the little boy he had rescued from the dungeons, but it was preposterous to think that he and Merlin had aged whilst Mordred remained the same.   
  
“He has changed over the years, Arthur.” Merlin said. “As much as you or I. His mind has been warped by Morgana’s whisperings.”   
  
Arthur closed his eyes against the pain the name still conjured. “And you I suppose have escaped her poison?” He jeered bitterly, “You who stood by and did  _nothing_  when she tried to burn my kingdom to the ground.” Merlin stared at him like he was insane.   
  
“Do not feign ignorance with me, Merlin.” Arthur raged. “I let you stay in Camelot even when I knew what you were, I trusted you to do no harm – and at the one time when you might have been called upon to aid this kingdom, you threw your lot in with our enemy.”  
  
“I did no such thing.” Merlin yelled. “I have  _never_  done anything to harm you. For years I have stalled, and subverted – kept the druid army from sending renegade sorcerers to your kingdom. I have done all in my power to  _protect_ you. How do you think it was that no innocents were harmed that day?”  
  
Arthur snapped, lunging forward he grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s robe and began hauling him from the room. The sorcerer staggered and nearly fell but Arthur dragged him onwards, through the corridors and down the stairs and out into the thundering rain. He ignored Merlin’s protests and yelps of pain, not stopping until he reached a plot of land where row upon row of crosses stood like mournful soldiers on parade.  
  
“No innocents were harmed?” Arthur demanded. “Tell me, Merlin, how were these people guilty?” He gestured wildly at the graveyard, shouts almost lost to the storm overhead. Merlin made no reply, sinking slowly to his knees before a cross that bore a single name:  _Gaius_.  
  
“No.” Merlin whispered brokenly. “No.” Tears were streaming down his face, mingling with the rain. He paid no heed to Arthur’s accusations, fingers tracing the rough wood as though that single act would bring back the man they guarded. “I don’t understand.” He said at last, turning his head to gaze up at Arthur, beseechingly.   
  
“The spell was supposed to protect all those of importance to realm. I was the only servant there – the rest were courtiers. Important people. And Gaius was the physician – he was important too. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”  
  
With a sinking heart, Arthur realised the mistake Merlin had made that day. “The only people of true import to a realm,” Arthur said softly, “are the king and his heir. My father and I were the only ones to escape unscathed that day – besides yourself.”  
  
“What happened?” Merlin asked, fingers still tracing the patter of Gaius’ name. “They didn’t burn – I saw that much at least.”  
  
“No, they didn’t burn.” Arthur said. “They died slow and painful deaths. Their organs rotted inside their bodies – their blood turned thick and putrid in their veins. Many committed suicide rather then experience the agony of their deaths. It is why so many are buried here – they could not be buried in consecrated ground.” Arthur looked away from Gaius’ gravestone – Merlin did not need to know how his mentor had begged Arthur in the end to free him from Morgana’s curse. The fact that he was buried he would tell Merlin enough.  
  
Arthur stood as Merlin laid himself on the grave and wept, hands clutching at the earth in desperation. Arthur did not think it was his imagination that the rain fell harder with each of Merlin’s wracking sobs.  
  
oOo  
  
Gwen was waiting for them in Arthur’s chambers when they returned. Her eyes widened at the sight of Merlin, and Arthur wondered if she would be wary in the sorcerer’s presence but one look at Merlin’s bedraggled and tear stained face and Gwen was gathering the man into her arms – as though years of hurt and anguish had been forgiven in an instant. Merlin crumpled and clung to his old friend, murmuring apologies and pleas for forgiveness against her hair. Arthur tried not to think what it meant that Merlin had not asked for the same from him.  
  
“I will leave you two alone.” Gwen said at last, once Merlin had calmed. “I am sure there is much you wish to discuss.”  
  
“Thank you, Guinevere.” Arthur said, bowing as his queen made to leave the room. Merlin stopped her with a hand on her arm.  
  
“You make a beautiful queen, Gwen.” He said sincerely, and Gwen smiled. It was a smile Arthur had not seen in six years. With a nod in Arthur’s direction, she left the room.  
  
“Morgana dreamt of Gwen years ago.” Merlin murmured, as though speaking to himself. “I’m glad it came to pass.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.   
  
Silence stretched between them, and Arthur wondered if Merlin felt he had any reason to ask for Arthur’s forgiveness or if he believed the King beyond offering redemption. Forcing such thoughts from his mind, he motioned for Merlin to sit in one of the chairs arranged around his table. It surprised him, how easily he accepted Merlin’s presence in his life again – how with little protestation and less anger he welcomed Merlin at his table. Though perhaps not the traitor Arthur once believed him to be, the question remained as to why Merlin had fled with Morgana – left Arthur angry and betrayed to stew in six years of resentment, with nothing to do but wait for his own chance to rule.  
  
“Is it an enchantment?” He asked calmly, unable even to feel the fear and trepidation such a question would usually merit.  
  
Merlin shook his head ruefully and offered Arthur a smile that was a mere shadow of the grin Arthur remembered. “No.” He said. “It is merely destiny.”  
  
At Arthur’s quirked eyebrow, he waved a hand, conjuring wisps of smoke that congealed and solidified into the most exquisite chess board Arthur had ever seen. Tentatively, he ran his hand across the board feeling the smooth glide of marble and onyx beneath his finger tips. Picking up the white rook, Arthur noticed the way the meagre light in the room sprayed in a multicoloured arc as it cut through the piece. The room seemed to blaze with an inner light and Arthur felt his eyes widen.  
  
“Diamond.” He breathed. Before him was enough wealth to feed Camelot for years – and Merlin had simply conjured it from thin air. Staring at Merlin, Arthur’s mind raced as he contemplated just what it meant to have such power at one’s finger tips.  
  
“Look closer.” Merlin instructed, plucking the piece from Arthur’s fingers and placing it back on the board. At once, the pieces shifted, the white forming a defensive arc around their king as the black began to dominate the board. As Arthur watched, the standard carvings shifted, warping and changing until in their place stood miniature replications of human fingers. Leaning closer, Arthur felt his heart grow cold. Each of the white pieces – from knight to rook to queen to pawn – bore the face of someone he knew. He and Gwen stood as King and Queen, the nobles of the border lands arranged before them as their pawns. Lancelot stood as the queen’s knight, whilst two of the royal advisors held place as bishop. He knew from the expression on Merlin’s face, that in Merlin’s mind one of those places should have been held by Gaius.  
  
Morgana, as anticipated, was the black queen. Mordred stood beside her as her knight. In the place of the king, stood a horned man with a crown of leaves. “The personification of the Old Religion.” Merlin supplied. All was as expected then – with one exception.  
  
“You are depicted twice.” Arthur said, looking at Merlin steadily.  
  
“I am.” The other man replied.  
  
Arthur frowned. “You are their pawn, and yet you’re my knight.”  
  
“Was there anywhere else you expected me to be?” Merlin asked. He waved a hand to encompass the board between them. “Since the moment I came to Camelot, I have been nothing but a tool for Old Religion – first in its vendetta against your father, and now in its vendetta against you. In contrast, I will serve you willingly until the day I die.” There was such emotion in Merlin’s voice, such utter certainty that there was no where he would rather be than at Arthur’s side that for a moment Arthur was stunned.  
  
“Is there a name,” he asked at last, “for someone as powerful as you?”  
  
Merlin smiled wryly. “The Old Religion calls me a warlock. And their High Priest.” He added as an afterthought.  
  
“But a warlock is a breaker of oaths.” Arthur protested.  
  
“And I have broken many oaths.” Merlin said. “At least those made to the Old Religion. I am their warlock, but I am  _your_  sorcerer, my lord.” Arthur looked away from the intensity in Merlin’s eyes. He could not find it in his heart to welcome what he might find there. Beside him, Merlin fell quiet. Arthur doubted he would be given the chance to reject Merlin a third time. Outside, the rain fell in brutal waves.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur found Merlin stood atop the battlements, gazing out over the stretch of forest and countryside that surrounded the city.  
  
“The army is waiting to engage.” Arthur said. “Those in the outer villages have been brought within the castle walls. Now all we can do is wait.” A muscle jumped in Merlin’s jaw, and Arthur saw the other man’s knuckled tighten on the stone balustrade. He raised an eyebrow in invitation.  
  
“There is a spell.” Merlin said haltingly. “One I used to ward the druid encampment from detection. It could be adapted to offer some protection to the city.”  
  
“What does this spell entail?” Arthur asked, annoyed that Merlin had not mentioned it sooner. “If there is anything you can do to ensure the safety of my people Merlin –”  
  
“It is an ancient rite.” Merlin interrupted. “It uses – old magicks. I did not think you would be amenable to the suggestion.”  
  
“What does it involve Merlin?” Arthur ground out. Merlin swallowed and fixed Arthur with a look he could not misinterpret. It was wary, bitter and  _hungry_. Arthur examined the nails of his right hand, Merlin breath sounding overly loud and intrusive to his ears.  
  
“It will keep my people from harm?” He asked eventually.  
  
“I don’t know.” Merlin admitted. “I’ve never used the spell this way before. It may not be a foolproof measure. But it should help – at the very least.”  
  
Arthur did not hesitate. “Very well.”  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur stared at a spot on the ceiling as Merlin reverently pressed kisses to Arthur’s exposed flesh. He felt the sorcerer’s hands, quickly divest him of his clothing; heard the fabric slither to the floor as Merlin kicked it from the bed. His lifted his hips to be of some assistance and dimly contemplated how he had never thought it would be like this.  
  
Merlin began murmuring words in an ancient tongue, and Arthur shivered as he felt the raw power spill across his skin. Long, slender fingers traced runes across his chest and down his hips, leaving a trail of oil that smelt of rosemary and dead flesh. He tensed as Merlin gently spread his legs, one oiled finger questing between his cheeks. Arthur could not help the hiss of breath that escape as the finger breached him, wriggling and flexing as it worked its way inside. Merlin did not break from his mantra but his eyes conveyed a clear message: relax. Arthur took a deep breath and willed his body to accept the intrusion; forced his muscles to go slack and accepting as Merlin added a second to the first. He jerked from the bed as Merlin’s fingers brushed over something inside him, his body reacting even as his mind stayed wilfully disengaged. Merlin pumped his fingers in and out, face alight with need. Arthur closed his eyes against the sight. He felt as Merlin stretched him wide and wider, fingers twisting and scissoring with a level of confidence that told him Merlin had done this before.   
  
Abruptly, Merlin pulled his fingers free, lips still moving over foreign words, as he pushed forward into Arthur’s body. Arthur yelled at the sensation, hips bucking involuntarily. Merlin laid a hand upon his hip to hold him steady; his gradual process did nothing to ease the burn. Arthur felt his eyes water and bit the inside of his cheek with vengeance. Merlin’s voice was rising in a crescendo as he thrust his way towards release. Arthur was dimly aware of a hand coming up to wrap around his half-erection. Merlin methodically stroked him to full hardness, continuing to pump even as the movement of his hips became erratic. He felt when Merlin spilled inside him, voice screaming the final words of the spell; felt as his body found release and a circle of protection rose outside Camelot’s walls.   
  
Merlin fell panting to the side, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. It was done then – the people of Camelot were safe.  
  
“I love you more than life itself.” Merlin whispered.  
  
Arthur sighed and closed his eyes. He did not return the sentiment.

**End.**


End file.
